


Safe

by dabs_into_oblivion



Series: dungeons & dragons stuff [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Crowley is a demon, Crowley will become Loge's patron, Dungeons & Dragons Character Backstory, Loge is a sex worker, Loge is trans, M/M, Trans Male Character, backstory for my tiefling bardlock named Loge, but Loge doesn't know that yet, world created by Patricia Wallinga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25575328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabs_into_oblivion/pseuds/dabs_into_oblivion
Summary: Loge arrives in Urbana al-Sona, the cultural capital of the Aquatic Kingdoms, and meets someone who will become very important to him.
Series: dungeons & dragons stuff [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853539
Kudos: 4





	Safe

Urbana al-Sona is bigger than Loge is used to. The bright side of that is that he might not be the only green tiefling in the city. (He's definitely not the only tiefling, but most of them seem to be very pretty shades of purple, which makes Loge feel a little bit inadequate. A lot of things make him feel inadequate.) He stifles a wince as the edge of his binder digs into his ribs. At least there's enough of a breeze that he isn't dying of sweat.

He buys a floppy sunhat from a street vendor, because he accidentally left behind his old one in Cape Hildegard, and leans in to ask where he can find the courtesans' guild. He can feel the vendor's gaze assessing him, wondering, perhaps building up to questions, and he forces himself to stay still. He needs this information. He needs to work. People are going to notice him, it's what happens when you're a green tiefling. He molds his face into pleasant mildness as the vendor rattles off a set of directions, thanking them with a close-lipped smile and an extra coin.

As he walks, he goes over his mental to-do list. Secure lodgings. Obtain guild membership. Find food. Find a client. He keeps having to duck his head or lean to one side to avoid smashing into signs or baskets that people are carrying on their heads. He thinks about the day he woke up taller than his father. Something coils within his stomach; he doesn't take the time to figure out what it is.

He's reached the guild. He hesitates. It's a new city, should he try a new trade? Even as he thinks the words he scoffs at his foolishness. He doesn't know how to do anything else. Besides, he enjoys it, enjoys making others feel good. What he doesn't enjoy is the loneliness once they've left.

He stoops to pass through the doorway to the courtesans' guild.

It looks like a tavern. Well lit, with a bar and tables. It's reasonably full, even this close to midday, with an assortment of extremely attractive people. A tall elf woman is standing behind the bar, and if she's surprised at the sight of Loge she hides it very well. Her dark hair flows over her left shoulder in an intricate braid and her nails are painted red to match her lips.

"What can I do for you, love?"

A friendly guild-master, or a friendly barmaid. Loge will take either. He offers his best approximation of a smile. "I'm new in town, just got in from Cape Hildegard. I'd like to join the guild."

She returns his smile. "Sure thing. Sit, sit. I'll be back with the paperwork." She vanishes into the back room before Loge can ask for a drink, so he perches on a barstool and twists his fingers together awkwardly.

A shift in energy behind him makes him turn. Possibly the most handsome man he has ever seen is sitting a stool away from him. The light reflects off his dark skin and his red eyes, which are -- shaped like a snake's? They match his hair, an impossibly bright red waterfall cascading and ending slightly below his shoulders. He's averagely tall for a human (but obviously isn't a human) and his build is about what Loge wants his own to be. He's wearing a black shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest and skintight black trousers. In his right hand is a drink that would match his eyes if it were less transparent.

"Hi," says this bewitching man. "Hear you're joining the guild?"

Loge swallows. "Uh, y-yeah. It's about the only kind of work I know how to do."

The man smiles. "I highly doubt that, darling," and Loge knows he's blushing. He looks away, around, up, down, anywhere except those eyes.

The man sets his drink down on the bar and leans closer. "What's your rate for an evening?"

"Um, I -- I'll have to see what my guild contract says --"

"The guild lets its members set their own rates." The man lifts a hand as if to touch Loge's face, then drops it. "Look, just book me in for the next evening you're working. Money won't be an issue."

Loge curses himself for allowing this man, this beautiful otherworldly man, to get in his head so far that he forgets how to do business. "Tonight. I'm working tonight."

"Perfect. Meet you here, then." Loge finds himself unable to breathe because the man is smiling and gods it's the most perfect thing he's ever seen --

"Name's Crowley, by the way." He drains his drink, then sets the glass back on the bar and walks -- no, saunters away.

"Crowley," whispers Loge.

The guild-master returns with two copies of a contract for Loge to sign. Her name is Lulu. When Loge asks her where to find lodging, she tells him that the city provides free housing for guild members.

"Whatever district you want to live in, too," she says. "Although you don't know the city very well yet, so let me just ..." and she pulls a map out, whips a little red pencil from behind her ear, and spends the next few minutes telling him about Urbana al-Sona, drawing all over the map in the process.

Loge thanks her and takes the map. "You don't, ah … what rates do guild members usually charge here?"

She thinks, tapping a finger on her chin, looking him up and down. "It depends what you offer."

His eyes smart a little. So far he hasn't been able to afford magic to actually change his body, so he's been relying on the world's intrinsic magic along with his binder to help him pass. It's why he never tops.

So he says that. "I bottom. I'm not picky about gender or bodies. I'll do a bit of kink stuff but only if they sign a contract first."

She nods. "Smart. You're an attractive guy, you can probably charge 25 to 30 silver an hour? If your client is wealthier, feel free to up your price a little. You'll pay the guild ten percent of your earnings, that's in the contract. We give you a bodyguard, some basic weapons and weapons training if you don't know how to use them, and some other perks." She runs her finger down the page. "See, here it is. Your bodyguard shares your lodgings for ease of communication."

Loge pulls out the map again, studying it. "And the housing I get has room for two people, right?"

"You get three rooms. Two bedrooms and a shared space."

His eyebrows rise. He's never had that much room in any lodgings before. He thinks about his closet-sized room in Archvale and suppresses a shudder.

"And just, you know, tell us if anything happens? I mean anything. I don't know what courtesans' guilds are like in other cities, but we have power. We can destroy people's lives if they mess with our members."

Loge nods, takes the red pencil, and signs his name on both copies of the contract.

"Great." She vanishes into the back room for a few seconds and returns with a blue-haired gnome. "This is Marsh, they'll be your bodyguard."

Marsh smiles. "Loge, right? Dude, you're gorgeous. Welcome to town."

Loge blushes. After ten years of sex work, he still isn't used to being considered attractive.

They go to the administrative district to fill out the paperwork for their new housing. Marsh is bubbly and energetic and doesn't have a preference on which district they live in, so Loge picks something close to the market. They go back to the guild hall so Marsh can retrieve their belongings before walking to their new home.

Marsh is 19. They grew up in Urbana al-Sona and have never been anywhere else. Their whole family are bodyguards for the courtesans' guild.

"Have you ever thought about doing anything else?" asks Loge.

Marsh shrugs. "No. Why?"

Loge smiles. "That's good. Means you're happy."

"Yeah!" Marsh has a girlfriend, Loge discovers, named Octavia. She's about to start her first year at a wizarding university. "She's so smart," they gush, and Loge swears their eyes are the shape of hearts. "She'll be in the college of divinity and she's gonna be the best wizard ever!"

They arrive at their rooms. They're furnished simply but comfortably. The common room has two long burgundy sofas, a low mahogany table, a brick fireplace, and a coal stove. Loge, with some reluctance, takes the bigger bedroom because Marsh is a cool 5'7". He lets them know that he's working that evening, meeting his client at the guild hall, and leaves them alone until then. He briefly considers buying some new clothes but his pockets are too empty for that at the moment, so he buys some alcohol instead, just to have it in. He'll just have to hope he doesn't smell too bad.

As the sun dips low in the sky, Loge walks down to the harbor, stooping to dip his hands into the sea and run them through his hair. He unbuttons his shirt a little, knowing his collarbones are pretty and hating himself a little for that. He makes sure his binder is invisible even when he bends over. He walks back to the guild hall.

Marsh is there, drinking a lemonade. Loge settles next to them at the bar.

"Nice hair!" they greet him. "Want a drink?"

Loge hesitates, then, "Yeah, why not?"

He's taking the first sip of his extremely fruity mixed drink when he feels it again, that shift in the air, and he knows Crowley has arrived.

He turns. Crowley, too, is wearing the same thing he was earlier. At least that makes things simple. He stands, offering a hand, and isn't entirely surprised when Crowley grasps it and pulls him in and down a little to drop a kiss on his cheek.

Marsh makes eye contact with him. You okay? Loge nods.

"Crowley, this is my bodyguard Marsh. Marsh, Crowley."

Crowley grins at Marsh. Marsh nods.

Crowley's hand rests low on Loge's back, guiding him back to his stool. They sit. "You drinking, sweetheart? I'll have one." He orders, his hand cupping Loge's shoulder, and Loge has to work very hard not to lean into his touch.

Crowley's drink arrives. He takes a sip. "You haven't told me your name, gorgeous."

Loge swallows. The constant terms of endearment are a bit much, he thinks, but he's not sure how to say that. "Loge. I'm Loge."

"Loge." Crowley says his name like he's tasting it. Loge has visions of him tasting other things and shakes his head to clear it. "So, how much for this evening?"

Right. This is a business transaction. "How long were you thinking?"

Crowley shrugs. "If you're free the whole night … I don't want to monopolize your time, of course, but I'll take whatever you have available."

"You want to spend the night together?" Loge asks, just to clarify.

Another sip. "Yes."

Loge shifts on his stool. "Any preference for a location?"

Crowley rubs the back of Loge's neck thoughtfully. "No, no preference."

"All right." Loge sets his empty glass down. "I can take you to mine, then, if you'd like." He has no intention of letting Crowley into his bedroom, but the common room will do for whatever the other man has in mind.

"Yes," says Crowley softly, "I would like that."

Marsh walks about five paces behind them; Loge shortens his stride to accommodate them and Crowley, who's a good head shorter than him. He thinks about taking Crowley's hand, then dismisses the thought. This isn't a social relationship.

They walk in the door, up the stairs, in the other door. Loge lights the fire and murmurs to Marsh that they can go to their room if they want, he'll call if he needs them. They nod and bid Crowley good night.

Crowley has sprawled on one of the sofas, looking entirely too much at home for Loge's comfort.

"Can I get you a drink?" he says hastily.

"Sure, darling, whatever you're having."

He shrugs and opens two bottles of wine. "I don't have any glasses," he explains, handing one to Crowley. "Just moved in."

Crowley laughs lightly. "That's why I haven't seen you around." He pats the sofa next to him. "Sit, you're so tense."

Loge sits.

"Better." Crowley takes a swig of the wine. "Tell me about yourself, Loge."

Loge freezes. Clients don't ask that. They like to talk about themselves if they like to talk at all. He fumbles the first few times he tries to respond before managing to articulate, "What would you like to know?"

"Where are you from?" Crowley's eyes are like molten lava in the firelight.

Loge breathes. Allows himself to lean back into the sofa. Ignores the way Crowley is looking at him. "I'm from the north. Far north. Small town. You've probably never been there."

"I've been just about everywhere," says Crowley, and it doesn't sound like the kind of empty bragging that it would be if anyone else had said it. "Any family?"

Loge's throat constricts. "No."

Crowley leans closer, almost imperceptibly. "Dead?"

"To me, yes." Loge leans forward to pick up his wine bottle from the table.

"You're new to Urbana al-Sona, then." Crowley's eyes haven't left Loge. "And before that?"

Loge leans back again. "I've been travelling through the Aquatic Kingdoms for about ten years, mostly doing this -- this work."

"Ten years," Crowley echoes. "You're young, though."

Loge nods. "Twenty-five."

Crowley inhales a little sharply. Loge tucks his hair behind his ears, untucks it, drops his hands back into his lap, shakes his hair in front of his eyes.

"Hey." Loge turns, looking at Crowley through the curtain of his hair. The other man is extending an arm. "Come here."

So he's bored of talking, then. Loge moves closer, readying himself, but Crowley doesn't kiss him. He pulls his head down onto his shoulder and wraps his arm around the taller man's shoulders. Loge's face crumples and he shuts his eyes tightly against the flood of tears that threaten to spill.

Crowley's long, slender fingers gently card through Loge's hair. "I'm not going to fuck you. Not tonight."

Loge stiffens. "Did I -- did I do something wrong?"

"Well, you still haven't told me how much I owe you for tonight," says Crowley, but his voice is light and teasing, and Loge allows his muscles to loosen just a little, allows himself to curl into Crowley's body, allows his arm to snake around Crowley's waist. This is evidently the right thing to do because Crowley's arm around his shoulders tightens. Loge's eyes flutter shut again as he tells Crowley he'll do the math later. He's not sure what it is, but for the first time in as long as he can remember, he feels safe.


End file.
